


Finding Hope in a Frozen Place

by completelyhopeless



Category: DCU
Genre: F/M, Fix-It of Sorts, Gen, another fic written while sick, could be friends could be more, new 52 based but loosely
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-10
Updated: 2015-02-10
Packaged: 2018-03-11 10:53:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3324863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/completelyhopeless/pseuds/completelyhopeless
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dick comes across something on a mission for Spyral that changes everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Finding Hope in a Frozen Place

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Tuxedo_Elf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tuxedo_Elf/gifts).



> So this is what happens when I'm sick. I can't breathe through my nose, which makes sleeping rather difficult. With that in mind, I have a lot of time on my hands lying in bed. I can watch television some of that time, I can read other parts of it, and if my head is really cooperating, I can write. Not much, and not very fast, but I can manage something. Sometimes.
> 
> I was doing some reading first. I've got such a backlog of comics to catch up on, but the excess yellow of older ones hurts my eyes, so I haven't managed as much of that as I need to do. I did look into Grayson.
> 
> Between that awful Grayson Future's End comic and the conversations I'd had with Tuxedo_elf about new 52's Babs not being Babs, and being sick... my mind came up with this.
> 
> Not really canon compliant, just loosely based there. That's about the only way I can handle new 52 stuff.

* * *

Dick closed the door behind him, repeating a quick mantra to himself as he did. _Get in, get the intel, get out._ He knew his role in Spyral's organization, knew he was a spy now, but sometimes he needed a reminder of it. Sometimes he still wanted to be a hero instead of a shadow, and he almost hated Bruce for making him take this on.

Sooner or later there would be a line he couldn't cross, one that would expose his role as a spy.

Or there would come the point where he surrendered what was left that was good in him to the role and stepped over that line he'd sworn he wouldn't cross. He wanted out before that happened, but he didn't think he should hold his breath. He was stuck here, and more and more, he didn't see it ending. He was nowhere near close enough to where he needed to be to shut down the organization.

He was, however, too close to losing himself, shedding more and more pieces every day, and he didn't know how he'd get them back or how to stop it.

Save the world, lose his soul.

He wasn't sure it was a price he was willing to pay, even if he'd already put more than half of it down on deposit.

He heard something across the room and almost jumped, shaking his head at his stupidity as he recognized the noise as a fan. Wait, not just a fan. Something was different about it, something almost familiar, almost like—a cyro chamber. He stepped closer, holding out a hand and wiping off the frost.

“No.”

He didn't believe this. He knew Bruce didn't tell him everything, and he knew Barbara had been in a bad place not long before he left Gotham, but this should not be possible. Dick would have known if she'd been taken. Bruce would have told him.

Wouldn't he?

“Hold on, Babs,” Dick said, putting his hand back on the glass in a promise before turning to the desk behind the chamber. He didn't know what they'd done to her, and reviving her without looking might be a risk.

Then again, he didn't have much time. He was just supposed to do reconnaissance, and his partner for this assignment would come for him soon. He was lucky. They'd teamed him with someone new, someone who didn't know him. His usual partner would already have been on the radio or dragging him out of here. He'd been distracted for too long already. He started copying the files and went back to the controls on the chamber, starting the thawing process.

He doubled back and checked the computer, trying to read as he did. Everything seemed fairly standard for cyrogenic freezing, though some of the science was way over his head, but he didn't think he saw anything that suggested thawing her out would harm her. That made him lucky as hell. He knew that rescuing her was compromising his mission— _both_ missions—and he should leave her there, but he couldn't. He hadn't lost that much of his soul, not yet.

The door on the chamber opened, and Dick moved over to catch her as she fell, shaking in his arms. He wasn't sure if that was a normal reaction to the thawing process or not. She had to be cold, but he couldn't be sure if he'd done it right or if she was going to die on him right here. That couldn't happen. He couldn't accept it. “Babs? Can you hear me?”

Her head fell back and she looked up at him. “Dick?”

“It's me. I'm—I don't know how you got here, but I'm getting you out of here. Now. Um, damn. I didn't really find anything in the way of clothes, but maybe if we get you moving, get your blood going again, you'll warm up more. In the meantime, here. Take my shirt.”

He leaned her back against the glass and pulled off his sweater. He actually had more than one layer for a change, and that was fortunate for both of them because they hadn't given her anything in that freezer, not that it would have helped to have frozen clothes when she needed to warm up.

He helped her into the shirt, not sure how much longer she'd be conscious. He'd been fortunate to get anything out of her after that.

He lifted her into his arms, not sure how he was going to get out of here without getting them both caught this time. He looked around the lab. Maybe there was enough here to cause a big enough explosion to buy them both the time they were going to need.

Somehow he doubted that.

* * *

Dick stood at the window, watching between the crack in the blinds. He knew it wouldn't give him much of a warning if anyone came after them, but he knew he couldn't sleep, even if there'd been room in the bed and he wouldn't have felt like a jerk for taking advantage of Babs just sleeping next to her. They hadn't been like that in a long time, and even if he tried to justify it as sharing body heat—he couldn't. Who knew what had happened to her to get her in that place and in cold storage? He couldn't do it, couldn't risk hurting her in even a small way. When she was back on her feet, they could talk and she could fight and _would_ probably hurt him, but he'd accept that when it came. For now, he just hoped the blankets he'd found were enough and that she didn't hate the clothes. He had a low operating budget at the moment.

Dick Grayson was technically dead. He couldn't access any of his old accounts, and even if he could, he'd pretty much bankrupted himself trying to rebuild the circus. He knew some of Bruce's dummy accounts, money spread around so that he didn't have to access Wayne funds when Batman needed something not quite legal, but tapping into them wouldn't be much easier, and Dick wasn't looking forward to explaining why he'd gone off mission.

At least Bruce had given him the means to disable the implants and all of the tracking that Sypral might have used on him. Dick wasn't sure that they'd buy him dying in the explosion and his disappearance would get noticed. He might be able to salvage things, but he doubted it. Bruce would be angry. He would have focused on the mission, ignored what Dick had found, left Babs there until later.

Dick wasn't Bruce.

He should have been like him, should have focused on the mission, but Dick had only been able to think about Babs when he found her there, and his compromised judgment could still cost both of them. He didn't know how to get her to safety—his only options meant contact with Bruce and he knew that wouldn't be pleasant—but she should be in the hospital and Dick didn't dare take her near one around here. He needed to get them both out of the country. Now.

“Hey, Guilt Wonder.”

He turned back, looking at the bed. She shouldn't be awake yet, but Dick really wasn't going to complain. This way he didn't have to worry as much. Consciousness was a good sign. “Hey, yourself. You shouldn't be awake. Not that I'm not glad you are, but considering where I found you—never mind. I owe you an apology.”

“For what?”

“For letting you think I was dead, maybe? That ring any bells?” Dick had figured she'd be pissed about that for sure. Maybe even about him seeing her naked again. “I'm not up-to-date on all the protocols for after someone's been cyrogenically frozen, so I didn't know about food or proper medical care—it was a botched rush job, getting you out.”

She watched him, and he frowned, still not understanding her reaction. Not that long ago, she'd been angry with him for not letting her do everything herself. She should be trying to get up and move on her own, telling him she didn't need him and would get back to Gotham on her own.

“Sorry. I've been up all night trying to make plans, but I managed to get all my bridges burned in one horrible moment, so I don't have a lot of options,” Dick admitted, running a hand through his hair. She continued to watch him, and he was starting to think she might be doing it on purpose. He wasn't sure if she wanted to see him squirm or if the freezing had done something to her. “I did slip out and get some new clothes for you, so maybe we should start with them. Or not. Babs... Did... Something went wrong during the thawing process, didn't it?”

She frowned. “What makes you say that?”

“Because you haven't forced your way out of bed and over to hit me, haven't yelled or told me to get out and let you handle it on your own. Last time you made your point with your fists.”

“Maybe I would if you were close or I had a chair, but I don't think the pillow—if you call this a pillow—qualifies as a weapon.”

He swallowed, taking a step closer to her and stopping, telling himself it couldn't be what he'd thought—maybe it was the freezing process messing with her memory. Maybe he was wrong, but then while she hadn't sat up yet, he knew he hadn't seen her move her legs. They could be still cold, still needing time to adjust. Or... 

“What is the last thing you remember?”

She pulled herself up, and that was familiar in an unpleasant way. Her legs moved but only because she dragged the lower part of her body up with her. She leaned back against the headboard, winded. “Um... Let's see. There was... It was the night of that anniversary party for Wayne Enterprises where I let you talk me into doing something stupid because I was nervous about my doctor's appointment. I drank too much and you had to carry me home and Dad was furious with you because of my meds and the appointment and...”

“That's it?” Dick asked, not sure he dared believe it, trying to decide if it was memory loss from being cyrogenically frozen or if that really was the last thing she remembered. 

She smirked. “I _do_ remember something I think you would rather I didn't—you told Dad you loved me and wouldn't do anything to hurt me. He was so mad because of your reputation back then. You were doing too good at following in Bruce's footsteps, even if I knew that was at least partially a cover.”

He grimaced, not sure when it had stopped being a cover, or if it still was one now, but that couldn't be the last thing she remembered. “Babs, are you _sure_ that's it?” 

She nodded. “That's it. Most of it, at least. I passed out afterward, I guess. I remember a hangover, waking up tangled in the sheets, and then there was a strange light above me, like the operating table, but I assumed that was a dream. It kind of _has_ to be, doesn't it?”

“Because your legs don't work.”

She sighed. “Not even a wiggle in the toes.”

“You're sure?”

“Dick, I _will_ smack you for this. It's not funny. I can't walk. I can't feel my legs. I can't move them. That's _not_ an exaggeration, and I'm _not_ going back to being Batgirl, if that's what you're thinking.”

“I need you to try. Again. Now. _Please._ I need to know it's not the freezing process,” Dick said, and she glared at him before throwing off the sheets. She looked down at her legs, willing them to move, but nothing happened. 

Dick should have read more of those files. It must have been some low budget Cadmus or something—or that doctor. The one with the experimental hush-hush, unexplainable treatment—he hadn't _cured_ her, hadn't given her back her ability to walk. He'd _cloned_ her. Replaced her.

“Are you happy now?” She demanded. “You didn't have to go that far. I only brought up what you said to Dad to mess with you. I know you meant it as friends. I even told Dad that when he tucked me in and—”

“Babs, that was _years_ ago,” Dick said, reaching over and taking her hand. “I don't know how I didn't see it. I should have. I was so busy and blind and to be fair my life went into a huge downward spiral not long before my identity got revealed and I 'died,' but I should have _known._ You and I were good friends. We were _more_ than friends, even when we weren't dating. We were Robin and Batgirl and we were... And then I didn't even know...”

“Know what? What aren't you telling me?” Barbara's grip on his hand was almost painful now. “I don't understand. What do you mean it has been _years?”_

“They must have cloned you. There's... There's a girl in Gotham who calls herself Barbara Gordon. Acts kind of like her. And yet not like her, which is why I should have seen it, but I was... selfish. We weren't together, there were other women, there was Nightwing... There was even a part of me that wanted it for you so badly I didn't care how it happened, and the changes could all be excused because you were building yourself back up, because you were walking again...”

She flinched. “That was what I was supposed to meet the doctors about—they wanted to discuss my results—but I never had that meeting with them.”

“I know. I found you in a cyrogenic chamber.”

She trembled, and he sat down on the edge of the bed, taking her into his arms and holding her.

“What are we going to do, Dick?”

“I don't know,” he admitted. There was no way he was going back to Spyral after this. To hell with the mission. Bruce could find someone else. Dick hadn't been there the last time Babs needed him, but this time he would be.

* * *

“I'd forgotten how good you were with computers,” Dick observed, leaning over Barbara's shoulder as she typed, almost wondering why the keyboard didn't explode with her touch as fast as she was working.

“What, the fake me doesn't use them?”

“Not so much. She tends to be more... physical,” Dick admitted, rubbing his jaw as he remembered just how well that girl had nailed him when he tried to tell her she wasn't really ready for the field. “Not that she wasn't smart, too, but as far as I could tell, she wasn't really using that like she should have been. Not that I was there much. My life went to hell and I...”

Barbara stopped typing and looked up at him. “You what? You know you still haven't told me why I should be mad at you for being dead.”

“I... I really don't want to talk about it. That was far from my finest hour. Then again, I no longer know what my finest hour was or if I even had one.”

“Hey,” she said, touching his face. “Stop that. This isn't you. Remember—you choose comedy or tragedy. Laugh at the darkness or become it. You always chose to laugh at it, even when I said you were crazy.”

He nodded, leaning into her hand. He'd been alone for too long in Spyral's organization, and being with Babs again, being with his best friend, he needed this more than he'd realized, than he could have allowed himself to think about. He almost felt balanced, back in control in a way he hadn't had in years. He shouldn't believe any of this was real, but he needed it too much to stop or even care.

“All right. I think I've done it,” she said, letting go of him and pointing at the screen. “We've got passage out of the country and a couple of aliases that should, I hope, fool even those that know to look deeper. I'm a little rusty at all this, but I think that may have helped. Most of these sites are so convinced that they're safe from old school methods of hacking that they didn't realize they were still vulnerable, and when that didn't work, I researched a few new ways to code.”

“You are brilliant.”

“Thank you,” she said, grinning at him. “We're limited in some of our options, but I think we can manage this. I hope, anyway. Like I said, I'm out of practice. Too many years in cold storage and not enough of being a hero on the wrong side of the law.”

“You're still amazing. I think you've thought of everything to get us out of here. We can do this. We can actually go and start over. Not completely, I know that, because we can't let someone take your place forever, and Bruce had that mission for me—”

She put a finger to Dick's lips. “We worry about that after we get out of here. One step at a time, okay, Ex-spy Wonder?”

He snorted, and then he had to laugh. “Hey, Babs, I just realized something.”

“What?”

“You're not an older woman anymore. I might even be older than you now.”

She laughed, and it was beautiful, and Dick realized the tightness in his chest wasn't from dread or fear or any of the usual suspects. It was hope, and it had been way too damn long since he'd felt that. He leaned over and kissed her temple.

“I really missed you. I didn't even know what I was missing, but I do now.”

She reached up and took his hand, joining their fingers together. “I know you're scared—don't start denying it, I know you better than that—but we'll get through this, Dick.”

“Hey, it's us. We can do anything together. You know I always believed that.”

“Yeah,” she agreed, the word quiet and laced with too much past, “I do.”

“No,” he said, lifting up her chin. “None of that now. We've lost time, a lot of it, and we lost a lot of things along the way, but that doesn't mean it's over. We might have next to nothing, but we've fought back from that before, and we'll do it now. Together.”

“Together,” she agreed. “So if you get me my coffee, I'll explain the cover. We don't have a lot of time, either, so you'll have to get it damn near perfect in a hurry.”

“I was working as a spy inside a spy organization. I think I can manage.”

She rolled her eyes. “Don't get cocky now.”

“Kind of comes with the name.”

“Except your name isn't Dick Grayson anymore,” she reminded him, pointing to the screen. “This is you now. Maybe for a long time. Think you can live with that?”

“Actually...” Dick began, wondering why it was so easy to contemplate leaving his name behind when he'd been insisting on using it with everyone in Spyral—was it almost becoming a Talon? The annoying way the false Babs had always wanted to call him Richard? The fact that his past had burned away? The Joker? Damian dying? His identity being ripped away and exposed? Bruce almost forcing him into a spy mission he didn't want? Lying to everyone he had left to care about? All of the above, maybe.

“Dick?”

“I thought you said it wasn't my name.”

She shook her head. “It doesn't matter what your name is. You'll still be you. You'll still be a hero. It's who you are.”

“Right back at you, Babs.”

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you like the changes as much as you liked the original I sent through email. I think this is better, but I don't know that my judgment can be trusted with the whole flu thing.


End file.
